Hermione Granger and the Castle of Despair
by Niels van Eekelen
Summary: Hermione's adventure in the summer holiday prior to the Quidditch World Championships. (COMPLETE)
1. Summer Holiday

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE CASTLE OF DESPAIR**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


--Chapter One-- 

_Summer Holiday_

Hermione Granger was a very normal-looking, thirteen-year old girl. In fact, if Hermione was standing among a group of other children of her age, she was impossible to tell apart from the rest. She wasn't (so she admitted herself) particularly pretty, but neither was she noticably unpretty. Her crop of bushy, brown hair could have adorned any thirteen-year old girl's head. (Provided, of course, that that girl was also normal-looking.) Hermione's front teeth were perhaps a bit large, and stood out a bit more prominently than Hermione would have liked, but that wasn't in itself out of the ordinary. Even the clothes she was wearing on that hot summer day, a pair of cut-off jeans and a bright red t-shirt, Hermione's favourite, were about as normal as they got.

And yet Hermione was anything but a normal girl. Under that bushy hair that we came across earlier was a brain, and what a brain it was. Hermione liked using her mind, liked thinking and learning. She liked learning so much, actually, that the summer holidays when she was away from school were her least favourite part of the year. Even though she loved her Mum and Dad very much. That love for her school was the second thing that made her such an unusual girl.

But it was the third thing that _really_ made Hermione an extraordinary girl. It was a secret thing, and it had to do with exactly what kind of learning it was that Hermione did all year long. Hermione was a witch, and for the past three years, she had been attending the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At Hogwarts, Hermione was learning Spells (from Professor McGonagall), Potions (Professor Snape--blech!), Defense against the Black Arts (never the same professor for long) and a load of other interesting subjects. She had even had Divination (predicting the future) classes for a while, but she had dropped them, because Professor Trelawney was just a big old fraud.

  


What made going to Hogwarts even better than the classes did, though, were Hermione's friends. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were the best friends Hermione had ever had in her life. She reckoned that they were the best friends that _anyone_ had ever had, even if the two of them, especially Ron, kept insisting that they do things that would get them into trouble.

Unfortunately, it was summer now, and Hermione was not with her friends. Ron had promised that she and Harry could come with him and all the other Weasleys to see the Quidditch World Cup, but that wasn't for a while yet.

So, meanwhile, Hermione was on holiday with her parents. After going to France last year, her parents had decided to stay in the UK this year, and now the three of them were out camping near a beautiful Scottish loch. Hermione had tried to convince her parents to pick Loch Ness, because she had read so much about it in _The Wizarding Ways of Scotland_ and _What the Muggles Know: A Comprehensive Guide to the Ministry of Magic's Foul-ups by Rita Skeeter_, but the Grangers had finally chosen the less touristic Loch Leigh. Hermione had to agree that it was very beautiful there.

They had a good spot on the camping site, too, directly facing the lake. Hermione was lying on her stomach on the grass now, her feet swinging lazily through the air. She was studying the water intently as she chewed on a blade of grass. How cool would it be if she discovered this loch had a monster in it, too? Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper and Care for Magical Creatures professor, would be _so_ excited if she managed to discover a new monster.

Because Hermione spent so much time looking for a monster and reading, her Mum was worried that Hermione didn't play with the other children at the camp site a lot. 'C'mon, honey,' her Mum would say when the kids were out on the volleyball court again, 'I'm sure they'll let you join in if you ask.'

But Hermione was fine where she was. She wouldn't have been able to talk about her magic with the other children anyway. Nor could she really with her parents. Mr and Mrs Granger knew that Hermione was a witch, of course. She could hardly go to wizarding school all year without them knowing! But Hermione's Mum and Dad were Muggles, meaning that they were non-magic people. They weren't a witch and a wizard. In fact, they were dentists. Which was perfectly all right, but it _did_ mean that they  didn't really understand Hermione when she talked about spells and stuff. They usually just gave some vague responses ('That's wonderful, dear.' 'Good for you, honey.') and tried not to show how uncomfortable they felt.

  


Her books were Hermione's best friends out of Hogwarts, and she loved spending time with them best. A few hours after lunch, she got up from the grass and decided that that was what she was going to do. It didn't seem that she was going to discover any monsters today. Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon immersed in _Trewe Tales  of the Greate Gryffindor_, a somewhat exaggerated account of the life of one of Hogwarts' founders. Then the Grangers had a barbecue, and after that Hermione wrote postcards to Ron and Harry, to send when she found an owlery in the neighbourhood. And then Hermione went to bed early.

The next morning, she was up just as early, excited about the tour of the lakeshore castle that they had planned for that morning. Hermione hadn't known there was a castle at Loch Leigh before they had arrived at the camp site, but she had read all about it in a pamphlet she'd found at the local post office.

The Granger family set out right after breakfast, because the guided tour started at 10 a.m. You could look around in the castle by yourself at any time you wanted to, of course, but the Grangers' preferred to stick with the orderliness of an organised tour. The castle was only about a twenty-minutes' walk from the camping site, but Mr Granger insisted that they _were_ on vacation, after all ('Dangerously high stress levels, the doctor said!') so they walked the distance at a leisurely pace and took three quarters of an hour to get there.

Hermione and her parents weren't the only people taking the tour. There were Mr and Mrs Blueman, the elderly couple from the tent next to the Grangers', a bunch of people Hermione hadn't seen before, and Mrs Cracker and her son, Melvin. Melvin Cracker was one of the children Hermione's Mum tried to get Hermione to play with, but he reminded her of nobody so much as Draco Malfoy, the biggest and meanest bully in all of Hogwarts, who was in the same year as Hermione. Both Draco and Melvin enjoyed themselves best when others around them were as miserable as possible.

'So, everyone's here, then?' the guide asked. He was a broad man with greying hair and an unruly beard. The question, Hermione thought, was rather silly. How were they to know if anyone who wasn't there yet wanted to come along?

'Let's get this show on the road, then,' the guide said, and they started off into the castle. Naturally, Hermione listened closely to what the guide was telling them, but since she had read about most of it in the pamphlet already, looking around was more fun. Muggles had built the castle in the fourteenth century, and for a long time, it had been forbidden for anyone to enter the building because it had fallen in such bad repair. Almost twenty years ago, some people had even died in the castle because they hadn't been careful enough. Only three years ago had the place been opened to the public again, though Hermione hadn't read anything about the restoration work the Muggles must have done.

While the guide, who told them his name was Mr McHommer, told them all about the Scottish lord who had built the castle, Melvin Cracker did his best to ruin everyone's fun.

'Then in the eighteenth century ..." Mr McHommer was saying.

'Mommy, I want to go back to the tents. I'm bored!'

'As I was saying ...' Mr McHommer continued after Mrs Cracker had shushed Melvin.

'Mommy! I'm hungry!'

  


It was surprising, really, how many things Melvin could be that required him to be somewhere else. He kept droning on about them, until finally, in a small hall deep inside the castle, Mrs Cracker gave in and took Melvin away. It was while the rest of the group waited for Mr McHommer to return after leading the Crackers outside that Hermione noticed something curious.

Hermione's Mum and Dad were standing in the center of the hall, talking with the other people on the tour. But there was someone else in the room, someone who hadn't come in with the group.

A man was standing on one side of the room. He was standing in front of a thick wooden door that showed no sign of the rot that was apparent in all of the other woodwork in the castle. Oddly enough, everyone else seemed to be ignoring him, or maybe they didn't notice he was there. What Hermione found most interesting, though, was that the man was wearing dark, tartan robes. Those robes weren't unlike the school robes Hermione wore most of the year. They were the traditional wizard clothing. Which, again, was rather odd, because one of the wizards' most important rules was not letting the Muggles know about them. Thus, Hermione deduced proudly, this wizard must have a charm on him that made the Muggles not notice him. She wondered why he was there at all.

When Mr McHommer came back and led the group to the next room (a dining room, which Hermione knew would never be as impressive as the one in the Hogwarts castle) Hermione pretended to look interested in a small gargoyle carved in the wall, and stayed behind.

When they were alone in the room, Hermione approached the wizard. She stood right in front of him, looking up at his face, but still the wizard remained as still as the Muggle guards Hermione had seen outside Buckingham Palace in London.

'Excuse me,' Hermione said. 'Excuse me, sir?'

After a few moments, as if the words had taken a while to get through to him, the wizard looked down at her and he jumped into the air as if he had a Firebolt broom propelling him upwards. 'Boiling boggarts! Ye cannae see me, can ye?'

Hermione shrugged. She was almost as startled by the outburst as the wizard was himself. 'Well, you're sort of just standing out in the open, sir.'

The wizard squinted closely at Hermione. 'Wait. Yer a witch, aren't ye? Prob'bly of'n age tae be going tae Hogwarts.'

Hermione beamed proudly. 'Yes sir,' she said, 'I'll be starting my fourth year there in september.'

The wizard slouched back visibly. 'Och, that's all right then,' he told Hermione. 'I thought ye were a Muggle fer a bit there. Muggles are nae supposed tae see me. Though I cannae see really what diff'rence it makes,' he added dejectedly under his breath. Then the wizard yawned, loudly.

'Do you have a charm that makes you invisible to Muggles, sir?' Hermione asked curiously.

  


The wizard nodded tiredly. Hermione noticed that the wizard looked completely worn out. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn't bothered to shave or comb his hair for days. 'Aye, the Nonvideocus charm. Only works if ye dinnae move around tae much, though. Not as if I got anywhere tae be, anyway. Whatcher name, wee lass?'

'Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger.' She held out a hand, and after a moment the wizard shook it.

'Henry McNuggett,' he introduced himself.

'Mr McNuggett,' Hermione asked, 'if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here? You don't look like you're on holiday.'

Mr McNuggett looked at Hermione again. 'Well, I'm nae supposed tae talk about it ... I think.' He sighed. 'But if ye really wantae know, I cannae see what it matters.' Hermione stood very still while she waited for Mr McNuggett to continue. She _should_, of course, tell the wizard that if it was secret, he shouldn't tell her. Hermione didn't want Mr McNuggett to do anything that he wasn't supposed to. But she was _really_ curious. Hermione almost groaned out loud. After three years, it seemed that hanging around Ron Weasley was starting to rub off on her. The horror.

'There's dangerous magic in this castle, there is. The Dark Arts were used here, used fer killing, and there's still a wee bit o'them left. I'm with the Ministry. We stand around here tae make sure Muggles dinnae wander of intae the places that's still dangerous. Fer all that's worth.'

'But I thought this was a Muggle-built castle?' Hermione wondered.

'Aye,' said Mr McNuggett. He yawned again. 'But this here castle was You-Know-Who's headquarters fer a few years way back.' Hermione gasped. You-Know-Who (or Lord Voldemort for the very few wizards brave enough to call him by his name, like Harry) had been the most powerful dark wizard for centuries. Before Hermione had been born, You-Know-Who had held the entire wizarding world in a state of terror for many years, killing wizards, witches and Muggles indiscriminantly, until he had tried to kill Harry Potter as a baby and had subsequently disappeared. But he wasn't all gone--ever since Harry and Ron and Hermione had come to Hogwarts, You-Know-Who had caused different sorts of trouble for them. If there was still some of his magic left in this castle, Hermione understood why the Ministry of Magic didn't want to have it widely known.

'You-Know-Who left a couple o'nasty surprises here when he left. We performed counter-spells fer all the curses we understood, but there's still things left. Couldn't keep the Muggles from the castle indefinitely, either, so we guard the place.' He rapped his knuckles on the door behind him. There was a heavy padlock on the bolt that held it shut, with no keyhole that Hermione could see.

  


Hermione nodded. She knew that the Ministry regularly put memory charms on Muggles to make them forget wizard things, but they couldn't possibly make _everyone_ forget a castle that had existed for centuries.

At that moment, Hermione's Mum's voice called from in the distance. 'Hermione? Honey, where are you?'

Regretfully, Hermione said, 'I have to go now, I'm afraid.'

Mr McNuggett shrugged listlessly. 'If ye think it matters.'

Hermione ran off to find her Mum. She hadn't meant to worry her. At the door to the hall, she paused and waved. 'Bye Mr McNuggett! Thanks for talking to me!' Mr McNuggett didn't call back.

  
  
  


--To Be Continued--

  
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

Harry Potter and the world of muggles, witches and wizards © Copyright 2004 J.K. Rowling, used with gratitude if not permission. 


	2. The Castle of Despair

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE CASTLE OF DESPAIR**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


--Chapter Two-- 

_The Castle of Despair_

The rest of that day, it would have taken a repulsion spell to pry Hermione away from her books. She went through the _Encyclopaedia Abracadabria_ and _The Travelling Wizard's Companion_ from end to end. They were the only books aside from the _Trewe Tales_ that Hermione had been allowed to take along. She didn't really expect to find anything about the Loch Leigh Castle, but she was much too excited to let it lie.

Besides, Hermione still had to do her homework assignment for her History class, a paper on either an important magical event in the history of her family, or on a magical landmark. Since Hermione was the only witch ever in her family, she might as well do the paper on her discovery of the castle. _If_ she could find some information to fill a paper with.

It wasn't until Hermione had nearly given up hope that she was ever going to find anything that she came across an entry in the _Encyclopaedia Abracadabria_ that she decided must be referring to the Loch Leigh Castle.

  


_Castle of Despair, the,_the text read. _Located in Scotland, this Muggle-built castle served as a base for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for some time during the height of his power. After He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's fall from power, the Ministry of Magic took control of the Castle and attempted to clear it of all the curses the Death Eaters had left within its walls. When it became apparent that such quantities of the Dark Arts had been used in the Castle that no attempt to clear it away would be completely succesful, the Ministry decided to keep the Castle of Despair under indefinite guard, and to cloud its location so that any escaped Death Eaters would not be able to find it again._

Mrs Granger just sighed at the sight of Hermione and her books and shook her head. It didn't seem likely that she was going to convince her daughter to make any new friends here on the camping site, unfortunately. (Because though Mrs Granger was glad for Hermione that she had made such good friends at that Hogwarts school, she was a little concerned that her daughter might get so caught up in her studies that she forgot all about normal people like her parents.)

New hope came from the strangest place for Mrs Granger, though. The next day, Melvin Cracker came to the Granger tent and very politely asked Hermione's Mum if Hermione could come play. Delighted, Mrs Granger quickly ushered Hermione out of the tent before she could object. But Hermione would have gone with Melvin anyway, because she was much too surprised and curious not to.

'Hi Melvin,' Hermione said hesitantly as they walked towards the volleyball court together.

'Bob went home,' Melvin said without any introduction. 'Need another player.' Hermione smiled. This was more like the Melvin Cracker she had seen around before. Still, she went along. It would make her Mum happy, and who knew? Hermione might even have fun. Volleyball didn't seem nearly as dangerous as Quidditch, which Harry played for the Gryffindor house team at Hogwarts, but which Hermione wouldn't have dared play if her life depended on it.

Two other kids were waiting for them on the volleyball court, tossing the ball between each other. They looked at Hermione suspiciously. If Melvin Cracker reminded Hermione of Draco Malfoy, Melvin's two friends were dead ringers for Crabbe and Goyle, Draco's two muscled friends. They didn't do much to make Hermione feel welcome, but she decided to stick around anyway. Maybe the boys would cheer up once they started playing.

The four of them spread out on the court two by two, with Hermione teamed up with Melvin's tallest friend. The volleyball court was playable, but it was poorly maintained, with rubbish lying along the sides and only a rope strung from side to side instead of a net.

  


Melvin served, and the game was underway. Hermione jumped ... and she ran ... and then jumped again ... but the ball never seemed to come within her reach. Suddenly, Hermione realised what the boys were doing, and immediately she stopped moving, indignantly. The game went on around her just as before.

'Hey, this isn't fair!' Hermione yelled angrily. The boys snickered at her outburst. Melvin had only wanted Hermione to come play so they could tease her. So much for faith in the human character. But what could Hermione do about it? Each of the boys looked a lot stronger than Hermione, and there were no grownups in sight. Hermione thought of her wand, but it was back in the tent, and besides, underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. 'Give me the ball!'

All three boys snickered again, and Hermione wondered what she had said that was so funny.

Melvin, who had the ball, said, 'You want the ball, Hermy? You want the ball? Here it is!' And he lunged the ball hard at Hermione. Hermione tried to step aside, but she wasn't quick enough and the ball still hit her on the side of her head. ('Ow!' cried Hermione.) She fell and landed painfully on her behind. Melvin and his friends were laughing loudly now. Hermione saw the ball flying back at her from her so-called teammate just in time to shield her head with her arms, bit it still hurt when the ball hit her.

With tears in her eyes, Hermione got back up. Those mean bullies! She simply couldn't let the boys get away with the prank they'd played on her. Time to put that mind of hers to good use and come up with a plan. And true enough, Hermione came up with an idea almost immediately. As fast as her feet could carry her, she took off across the court, ducking underneath the 'net'.

'Ha ha!' laughed Melvin at Hermione's back. 'Look at her run. You sissy!' The smaller of Melvin's two friends, a not particularly bright fellow, had already retrieved the ball, and a second later Hermione heard three pairs of footsteps follow her across the gravel.

When she passed the end of the fence that shielded off the volleyball court, Hermione stopped and turned around. The boys were still coming at her, but then the one with the ball stopped and, with a grunt of exertion, lunged the ball at Hermione. This time, Hermione was ready for it. She ducked, and the ball _whooshed_ over her head--

--And with a splash, landed in Loch Leigh.

'Ollie, you twat!'

'I didn't do it! I ... It ... It was her fault! The girl's!'

Hermione was looking after the ball with a triumphant smile on her face when it occurred to her that she might want to keep on running. Melvin and his friends raced after her--and now they were angry!

  


Fortunately, the boys' surprise had given Hermione enough of a lead that she managed to stay ahead of them until they came near the tents. There! There was the Grangers' tent. And there ... Yes! Hermione's Mum was just coming out of the tent. Hermione circled around behind her and came to a sudden halt, wide-eyed and breathing hard.

'Honey? What ..?' Hermione's Mum asked, surprised.

Melvin came to a stop just in front of her. He grunted when Ollie slammed into his back, and again when the largest boy slammed into Ollie's back.

Hermione's Mum took one look at the boys and their angry appearance and said, 'What's going on here?' in her I'm-not-angry-yet-but-better-step-carefully voice.

Hermione could just _see_ Melvin Cracker think. (It looked quite painfully on him.) 'Hermie threw my ball into the water, ma'am!' he said then 'She did it on purpose!' His two friends looked confused for a moment, but then began to nod furiously.

Hermione's Mum turned and looked at her. 'Hermione?'

'I didn't do it!' Hermione said quickly. She hadn't had the chance to even throw the ball anywhere once.

'You swear?' her Mum asked again in a stern voice.

'I swear I didn't do it, Mum! I didn't throw the ball into the water.'

Hermione's mother turned back to the boys. 'My daughter says that isn't true, and I happen to believe her.'

Melvin glared angrily at the two Grangers 'But ...'

'Should I call your mother to talk it over?' Mrs Granger asked.

Melvin grimaced, but then hastily took off, taking his cronies with him. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Her Mum would still want her to explain what had happen, but at least Mrs Granger knew her daughter well enough to believe her when she told the truth.

The next few days, Hermione stuck mostly around the tent. She knew Melvin's type, and she didn't want to chance running into him alone and giving him the opportunity to spoil her vacation. It was okay, though. There were few things in Hermione's life that could match lying on the grass beneath a warm summer sun with an interesting book. The only thing that could have made it better was if Ron and Harry had been there with her (and if they would for once agree to not do anything dangerous). That and ice cream, and everything would have been perfect.

From time to time, Hermione got the feeling that someone was watching her, and when she looked around she'd find Melvin Cracker looking at her with an annoyed look. If he'd had a chance, Melvin'd have loved to pay Hermione back for humiliating him in front of his cronies. But when he saw that Hermione had noticed him and she smiled at him, he always left quickly.

  


Three nights later, Hermione had the strangest dream. While she was really tossing about in her sleeping bag, in her dream _Hermione was back at Hogwarts. She wasn't in the great hall, or the Gryffindor tower, or any of the classrooms, but she recognised the room anyway. She had been there only once, in her first year at Hogwarts. In front of Hermione was a row of bottles, and she had to figure out which one held the potion that would allow Harry to walk through the fire at the far side of the room unharmed._

_But which bottle was it? Hermione _knew_ that she could figure it out--after all, she'd done it already. But which one was it?_

_Harry's bespectacled face suddenly peeked over her shoulder. 'C'mon, Hermione,' he said, 'which potion do I drink? If you pick the wrong one, I'll die!'_

_'I ... I think ... I don't know!' Hermione exclaimed._

_'Ah, she's never gonna figure it out.' Ron was suddenly hanging over her other shoulder. 'It's no use ... No use at all.'_

_'Huh?' Hermione thought, looking around. 'Ron? You're not supposed to be here ...'_

_There was the sound of breaking glass, and Hermione quickly turned back to the row of bottles. Crookshanks, Hermione's big cat, was lazily walking over the table, knocking over each bottle as it passed them._

_'No!' Hermione cried as the potions sprinkled uselessly onto the floor. 'I could have figured it out! I could've!'_

_Crookshanks stopped and looked at her with oddly malicious eyes. It spoke in a purring voice. 'It's no use ...'_

Hermione sat up with a start, and found herself back in the tent. An eery cry pierced the silence off the night. It was so loud that it almost hurt her ears, and for a moment, Hermione thought that she might still be dreaming, but when she pinched herself, it hurt.

Hurriedly, Hermione got up, kicking into the sleeping bag to disentangle her legs. The cry was fading away now, but the memory of it still gave Hermione goosebumps. She knelt at her parents' side, and put her hands on her father's shoulder to shake him. 'Dad ... Daddy!' Hermione said when Mr Granger began to stir.

'Mmmm ... 'tizzit, 'oney?' he mumbled sleepily.

'Dad, I heard a scream,' Hermione told her Dad excitedly. 'It was really loud and scary.'

Mr Granger cracked open his eyes a bit and smiled at Hermione paternally. 'Don' worry, Hermie, 't was just a dream. G' back t' sleep.' And he closed his eyes and followed his own advice.

  
  
  


--To Be Continued--

  
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

Harry Potter and the world of muggles, witches and wizards © Copyright 2004 J.K. Rowling, used with gratitude if not permission. 


	3. The Monster of Loch Leigh

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE CASTLE OF DESPAIR**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


--Chapter Three-- 

_The Monster of Loch Leigh_

For a minute, Hermione sat there beside her parents' camping bed, unsure of what to do. Her parents were light sleepers, and a scream like the one Hermione had heard should have been more than enough to wake them. If they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary ... But no, Hermione was certain that the cry hadn't been part of her dream. She'd pinched.

There was only one thing, in Hermione's mind, that could explain why her parents hadn't heard the cry. Magic. Whatever  creature had produced it (for the longer Hermione thought about it, the more inhuman the cry seemed) it must have been magical.

And that meant the castle. The Castle of Despair. Had something that You-Know-Who had left behind escaped? A shiver ran down Hermione's spine at the thought, but she couldn't just sit there and not know.

Quickly, Hermione put on her shoes, and put on her coat over her pyjamas. It was only three o'clock in the morning, she saw on her watch. She could go and check on Mr McNuggett, or whoever was at the castle tonight, and be back safely before her parents even knew she was gone. Hermione hesitated for a moment, and then dug up her wand from the bottom of her suitcase and put it in her coat. She knew that she wasn't allowed to use the wand over the holidays, but Hermione  just felt safer, having it at hand.

Silently, Hermione slipped out of the tent. It was a cloudy night, but fortunately the moon and the stars gave enough light to see by ... barely. It sure made the castle on the lakeshore look more menacing. The Castle of Despair ... brrr. Just the name gave Hermione the creeps. She set out towards the building at a fast pace. If she was going to do this, Hermione'd rather get it over with.

It didn't take Hermione long to reach the castle, but it seemed like forever. Getting to the hall where she had seen Mr McNuggett and the bolted door was harder. The hallways were like a labyrinth without a guide, and whole parts of them were swallowed in deep shadows. Hermione half-expected one of Peeves the poltergeist's relatives to jump around every corner.

Several times, Hermione almost went back to the tent and the nice security of having her parents nearby. After all, what did it all matter? All she'd heard was a single cry, no matter how weird and inhuman it'd sounded. But she went on.

  


Finally, Hermione found to hall, and when she saw it, she gasped. The bolt had been shoved aside, and the heavy wooden door was swung wide open. Terrified, Hermione looked all around her. She'd read _The Monster Book of Monsters_ from cover to cover. (The book had bitten her fingers four times, and it had almost got her nose once, when she'd leaned in too far at the part about vampires.) Hermione could imagine all too well what kind of terrible things could have escaped from that room.

But all Hermione saw was Mr McNuggett, lying crumpled on the floor not far from the door. Forgetting all about  the danger, Hermione rushed towards him. 'Mr McNuggett!' she cried. 'Mr McNuggett!' She looked over the man's still form quickly, then carefully, but she couldn't find any sign of injury. As a matter of fact, Hermione realised all of a sudden, Mr McNuggett was breathing evenly ... He was sleeping!

Hermione huffed indignantly and shook the man. And here she had been so worried, and he didn't appear hurt at all! Then again, the door _was_ open. 'Mr McNuggett!' she called again. 'Sir, wake up!'

Finally, the man stirred. 'Huh? Lassie? Calm down, will ye? No reason tae be upset. None at all. Dinnae matter.'

'But Mr McNuggett, what happened? Were you attacked? How did the door get open?'

'None o' that matters, lassie,' Mr McNuggett complained. 'It's all nae use, 't is.'

'Please, sir,' Hermione insisted, 'tell me!' She was having a really bad feeling about this. 'Were you attacked? I heard a cry ...'

'Och, nae I wasn't attacked. I opened the door meself, I did. No use in guarding it. It was gonna escape sooner or later.'

'It? Sir, what was in that room?'

Mr McNuggett made an annoyed gesture. 'A Scottish banshee. We confined it tae that room, but what's the use o' guardin' it? It'd break free soon enough ... I'm so tired, what's it matter if I go tae sleep ... Leave me alone now, lassie.' He turned to his other side and went back to sleep.

Hermione sat very still, very frightened. She understood now why the Ministry of Magic hadn't been able to clear the entire castle of dark magic, even why Mr McNuggett had acted so apathetic and for that matter, why the castle was called the Castle of Despair. The Scottish banshee wasn't actually related to its more common Irish namesake. The only reason they were called the same was because both their powers lay in their voices. According to the _Encyclopaedia Abracadabria_, 'the Scottish banshee, incorrectly named, is a creature of pure black magic, the voice of which saps the will and _joi de vivre_ out of a person. Anyone who hears the cry of a Scottish banshee will experience dreadful hallucinations which encourage him or her to give up everything. Wizards and witches are vulnerable to the Scottish banshee over much greater distances, but up close, no one is safe. It is possible to temporarily subdue a Scottish banshee, but only the greatest wizards can expel it from its home against its will.'

  


Ignoring Mr McNuggett, who was softly beginning to snore, Hermione slowly moved towards the open door. Maybe ... maybe the banshee was still in there ... Maybe she could just close the door again and everything would be fine.

The door was just ahead, but it was pitch black inside, and Hermione couldn't see a thing. She took a small step inside, just to take a peek--

_--and everything was spinning. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the room stopped moving. Hermione stared deeply into the crystal ball before her, but as she expected, all she saw was a crystal ball._

_'Oh, this is terrible,' Professor Trelawney murmurred on the other side of the ball. They were in Professor Trelawney's attic classroom, and everywhere around them Hogwarts students of every year and house were sitting in pairs, staring into crystal balls. 'This is so terrible. Hermione, child, I see that you are going to die. And there's nothing you can do.'_

_A lump of ice formed in Hermione's stomach. She still couldn't see _anything_ in the crystal ball but her own distorted reflection. She tried to say, 'I don't believe ...'_

_As one, Harry and Ron gasped loudly. 'Hermione!' Ron exclaimed. 'I saw you die, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop it.'_

_'That's right,' Harry agreed. 'There's not even any use in fighting it.'_

_The whole classroom was looking at Hermione now, and it seemed that they'd all seen the same. 'It doesn't matter.' 'She's gonna die.' 'There's no use.' 'Serves you right, Mudblood!' called Malfoy. 'Might as well lie down and die now, what's it matter?'_

With a gasp, Hermione opened her eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she looked around her, wildly terrified. She was back in the Castle of Despair. Apparently, she had taken a reflexive step back, and had moved out of the room in which the banshee had been imprisoned. She hugged herself, feeling suddenly cold.

The Scottish banshee must really be a terrible creature, Hermione thought, if just the echo of its imprisonment could cause her such a vivid waking dream. (Hermione knew that it was only the creature's echo, because she had seen nothing to indicate that the banshee was still in its prison.) At least she understood how the banshee worked better now. It made people see visions or dreams like hers, and then fed of the despair they caused. If You-Know-Who had entrusted the protection of his base to the banshee, the sound of the banshee's voice from up close was probably enough to make people want to lie down and never get up.

Hermione felt like doing that herself, but she reminded herself that A, it had only been a dream, and B, she didn't believe in any of Professor Trelawney's predictions anyway. Aside from lying down and giving up, Hermione also really wanted to get out of the castle. The banshee was still around somewhere.

  


But then again, the banshee was still around somewhere, and come morning, Mr McHommer would be giving another group of tourists a tour of the castle. They wouldn't stand a chance. Hermione didn't want to run into the banshee, but at least she would know what she was up against, and nobody else would. Mr McNuggett must have had a way to contact the Ministry, but under the influence of the banshee, he wouldn't have used it. 'You can't let those people get into danger,' Harry's voice sounded through Hermione's head, and, 'How cool would it be if you could help Dad and the Ministry catch that thing!' said Ron's voice. But Hermione wasn't even allowed to use magic. She took out her wand for a moment and looked at it, but then put it back in her coat resolutely. The Ministry of Magic knew what it was about, it would deal with the situation, and that would be the end of it.

Hermione decided to go straight back to her parents. It took her some time to find her way through the castle. Not, this time, because she got lost--she'd memorised the path she'd taken on her way in--but Hermione jumped at every sound and gave shadowy areas a wide berth. Hermione had often wondered why the Sorting hat had placed her in Gryffindor back when she had first arrived on the Hogwarts Express. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, and Hermione didn't feel particularly brave, especially now. It would have made more sense if she'd been put in Ravenclaw, where the children who liked learning and studying traditionally went. (Not that Hermione was complaining, mind you. If the Sorting Hat hadn't put her in Gryffindor, she'd have never become friends with Harry and Ron.)

Hermione was almost outside when she saw it. She was in the front hall, facing the hole that once had held the gate, when she heard a noice. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't a mouse or another animal. It was a low, unearthly moan, and it was coming from above. Stiff with fright, Hermione turned her head as quietly as she could. There, on the second-floor balcony, it was floating by. It looked just as the _Encyclopaedia Abracadabria_ described it, a cloud of fog, lit from within by an eery green light. The banshee's only clearly distinguishable features were three dark pools like a skull's eyes and nose, and the gaping mouth that sang its moaning song.

_Hermione turned and ran out of the Hogwarts library. She'd spent countless hours going through the ancient volumes on those dusty shelves in the library, but suddenly the place had lost  all sense of security to her. The attacks that had held the entire school in terror all year--Hermione knew what was behind them. It was a Basilisk, a monstrous snake with a lethal stare ... but as long as she didn't look at it directly ... Hermione looked into the small pocket mirror she had in her hand--_

_  
_

_--And Penelope Clearwater looked back at her. The Ravenclaw Prefect shook her head sadly. 'Do you believe this mirror will save you, Hermione?' she asked. 'It didn't help us the first time, did it? It's no use ... there's no escape.'_

_'No essscape,' hissed a voice almost too soft for Hermione to hear. Instantly, she knew that it was the Basilisk, which made no sense, since only Harry understood Parseltongue, the language of snakes. Hermione jumped around, but saw nothing._

_The sound of sobbing made her look back into the mirror. Ron's younger sister Ginny Weasley's reflection looked back at her, and she was crying her eyes out. 'I'm so sorry,' Ginny cried. 'There isn't anything I can do, there's nothing anyone can do!'_

_At the sound of laughter, Hermione jumped around again. (Why did everyone and everything keep appearing directly _behind_ her?) Moaning Myrtle, the ghost that haunted one of the girls' bathroom at Hogwarts, pointed a finger at Hermione. Hermione was startled by Myrtle's laughter, she'd never seen the ghost anything else than despairing._

_'Myrtle, what is it?' she asked. 'What's so funny?'_

_'It's just,' Moaning Myrtle gasped between laughs, 'It's just ... I've never seen anyone ... anyone more doomed than I am!'_

_'Doomed ...' hissed the Basilisk, right behind Hermione. She jumped around--_

--and gasped when she stumbled over her own feet and fell the the cold stone floor of the Castle of Despair. It slowly dawned on Hermione that she'd been standing there, looking at the balcony for at least ten minutes, frozen to the ground. The banshee was long gone, it had never even noticed her, but it was still difficult to look away from the balcony.

Having seen the banshee, something settled in Hermione. Rules and Ministry or not, there was absulotely _no_ way that she was going to allow unwitting Muggles to run into that _thing_, not if she could help it. In her head, Ron and Harry cheered her on enthusiastically, and Hermione recalled again the odd sort of pride she had felt that time late in the last school year, when Ron had commented that she was loosening up so much about rules and stuff. She just hoped that the Ministry of Magic would appreciate it as much as Ron did, but somehow she doubted that.

  
  
  


--To Be Continued--

  
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

Harry Potter and the world of muggles, witches and wizards © Copyright 2004 J.K. Rowling, used with gratitude if not permission. 


	4. The Binding Spell

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE CASTLE OF DESPAIR**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


--Chapter Four-- 

_The Binding Spell_

Hermione went through what had used to be the gate to the castle, and ran back to the camping site as fast as she could. Not to go to sleep, now, but she had an idea for a spell that might just help her survive the night. All that she needed was her books.

Running as she was, Hermione made a much better time on her way back to the tents than she had on her way to the Castle. With a bang, Hermione knocked over some folding chairs that someone had left standing outside in the dark. Hermione hurt her knee, and she stood rubbing the painful spot for a moment, but she was more worried about all the noise the falling chairs had caused. When there was no immediate reaction from any of the tents, Hermione quietly sneaked back into the Granger tent.

Inside, Hermione's Mum and Dad breathed easily, regularly. They were still soundly asleep, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Her pyjamas were dirty enough from falling over in the castle that there was no getting around the fact that she'd gone outside that night, but that was a worry for the morning.

As silently as she could, Hermione crawled over to her suitcase on her hands and knees. No, she realised when she was about to open it ... her _Encyclopaedia Abracadabria_ was lying next to her sleeping bag. She leafed though the pages, looking for the entry about the Scottish banshee. Hermione had to turn the page quickly when the entry about an ancient sleeping spell suddenly started snoring loudly. Ah, there was the Scottish banshee. Hermione reread the entry, but like the first time she'd read it, it didn't tell how to subdue the creature. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that was to keep inexperienced people from trying. She sighed and took out her wand. There was no going back now.

Hermione touched the end of her wand to the banshee entry and her face scrunched in concentration. 'Elaboratus.' The point where her wand touched the parchment lit up briefly, and then the page began rippling and the text began moving around on the parchment. 'Yes!' Hermione whispered enthusiastically. 'It worked!'

When the words settled, there were over three full pages of text about the Scottish banshee, and even a full colour moving illustration. Hermione skimmed through the text until she found what she was looking for. 'Hmm,' she commented when she did. So there _was_ a binding spell to subdue the banshee. Hermione even thought that she would be able to do it. The spell didn't look too complicated. The trick was to ignore the banshee's song long enough to finish the spell, and the _Encyclopeadia_ was still of little assistance in that department.

  


Well, it couldn't be helped. Hermione shrugged and quietly crept out of the tent again. Under the stars, Hermione stopped for a second. She had the creepiest feeling that someone was watching her, but she dismissed it as nerves and hurried back to the Castle of Despair as fast as she could. Nearer to the castle, Hermione slowed down to catch her breath. It wouldn't do to find the banshee and be gasping for air too hard to be able to pronounce the spell. Again Hermione had that feeling that she was being watched, but she shrugged it off. As dangerous as the banshee was, its glow would have been a dead giveaway if it was watching Hermione, and the castle looked perfectly dark from the outside. In a scary way. Hermione swallowed hard and went inside.

It seemed that there were a lot more corridors and hallways than she remembered, Hermione thought as she turned about the hundredth corner. She paused for a moment, standing perfectly still and holding her breath so as best to listen. A few times, now, Hermione had heard the banshee's cry in the distance. Vague enough that she hadn't had any more of those dreadful waking dreams, only a very uncomfortable feeling, but clear enough that Hermione had been able to make a good guess at the direction the cry came from. Unfortunately, the cursed thing kept floating through the castle, and Hermione was becoming more and more convinced that it wasn't bothering with stairways and corridors like she was ... or for that matter, with doors! Still, Hermione knew that she was bound to run into the banshee sooner rather than later. It _was_, after all, supposed to search out intruders in the castle. It wouldn't ignore her, no matter how much it was enjoying its rewon freedom.

There it was again! ... Hermione frowned in concentration ... It sounded like the cry was coming from above, a little off to Hermione's back and left. She'd passed the main stairway just two minutes ago. Hermione hurriedly ran back through the hallway.

By the time she'd reached the top of the stairs, Hermione was huffing and puffing. She halted again for a moment, to get her breath back and to listen again ... The cry of the banshee was still there. A little further away (horizontally speaking) than before, but still nearby. A shiver ran down Hermione's back and her mouth felt uncomfortably dry. She was finally getting close, but she didn't feel relieved. Her wand was in her hand, and she was clasping it so tightly she was afraid it might crack.

Hermione crossed a room, moving slowly and silently, but as she did she could hear the banshee moving further away. She decided she'd have to sacrifice stealth for speed and ran to the door at the other end of the room.

And suddenly, Hermione could see the banshee. It was floating halfway through a wall a dozen metres away, and the sight of its cloud-like, glowing form burnt terror right into Hermione's eyes. _It's not real fear you're feeling,_ she told herself, _it's only the banshee's effect. It can't hurt you if you remember that._ But it didn't do her any good.

Hermione raised her wand and pointed it at the banshee. Her best chance was to perform the binding spell before it noticed her. 'Dor ...' She had to do it _now_. 'Dormions ...'

  


The banshee stopped its motion away from Hermione. She had never felt so scared in her life. She didn't stand a chance. Why had Hermione ever thought anything she tried would make a difference? The banshee's death's head-face appeared out of nowhere on the side of its cloud facing Hermione.

_She was only five-and-a-half years old, and from her point of view, the drop from the climbing frame seemed endless. Hermione was sitting on the highest bar on the contraption, her legs bungling down on either side of it, and she could see the other children standing safely on the ground deep below her. She was going to fall. She had done so before, after all._

Hermione shook her head, shrugging off the illusion. No, she wasn't home ... she was in Scotland, at the Castle of Despair ... and she was thirteen, not five ...

'Dormions,' Hermione started over in a determined voice, 'Dormions monstro ...'

_By the time Hermione got on the Hogwarts Express, that odd little train on which you could never tell in which direction you were going no matter how much attention you put into looking out of the windows, to get to Hogwarts for her third year there, the trip should have been familiar and comfortable. But Hermione had a bad feeling about it. She was sitting in a compartment with Ron and Harry, Ron's sister Ginny, his brothers Fred, George and Percy,Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, Neville Longbottom and most of the other kids in Gryffindor, right down to Colin Creevy, and then there was Professor Lupin. It seemed a bit odd, Hermione thought, that they were all sitting the single compartment, but it didn't seem particularly crowded in there._

_Aside from the many people in the compartment, everything felt strangely familiar to Hermione. But not familiar in the should-be-comforting way of having been on the Hogwarts Express often enough sense, but familiar I-know-that-bad-things-are-gonna-happen sense. Hermione, feeling suddenly afraid, tried to get up, but Ron and Harry, on either side of her, pulled her back down onto her seat._

_'You can't get away this time, Miss Granger,' Professor Lupin said, almost sounding pitying. 'There's simply no escape.' Malfoy snickered._

_And then the door to the compartment opened, and in the open doorway stood the horrible, hooded figure of a Dementor, an inhuman guard of the wizard prison of Azkaban. Hermione shivered. Dementors were enough to scare anybody, but they had an even stronger effect on Harry, and Hermione had always had an eery curiosity to know what it felt like when Harry saw a Dementor. (Though that didn't make any sense, since Hermione saw a Dementor for the first time this day on the Hogwarts Express.)_

_  
_

_Now, she found out. A feeling of despair, purer than any other feeling she had ever felt, settled in Hermione as blackness engulfed her. There were images, things Hermione saw, but later she would never be able to remember what they were. In all truth, Hermione was glad of it. She might not be able to remember _what_ it was she had seen, she knew that it had been absolutely terrifying._

'Yo, Granger! I'm gonna tell that you went to the castle in the middle of the night! You're gonna be in _big_ trouble. Not to mention that you're going to make a bad fall! Ha ha!'

Hermione found herself lying on the cold stone floor, hugging her knees against her chest. She was crying, and so tired ... It was hard to keep her eyes open, and Hermione wondered why she was even bothering to try. She could just lie here forever, until she died, and it wouldn't matter at all. It wouldn't make any difference.

But vaguely, Hermione recalled that just a minute before, she had been in one of the waking dreams caused by the banshee's cry. Something had helped her break free ... Not that it mattered much. There was no escape for her this time. Still, Hermione found the strength somewhere to lift her head and open her eyes.

The banshee was still there, of course. But Hermione could no longer see its monstrous face, that was turned away from her now. Something had distracted it. Someone.

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes snapped wide open. Behind the banshee, she could see Melvin Cracker. Melvin Cracker, in the Castle of despair in the dead of night, frozen on the spot with fear and despair as the banshee sang him a sour song. Had he followed Hermione there? Of course! That would explain why she'd had that creepy feeling of being watched while she returned to the Castle after looking up the spell. The spell! In a rush, everything was coming back to Hermione.

Despite all the despair she was still feeling, Hermione felt that no matter how much she disliked Melvin, she had to try to save him. And with the binding spell, Hermione _knew_ that it wasn't impossible. She focussed on that as she slowly got back to her feet. Remarkably, Hermione was still holding on to her wand. She pointed it at the Scottish banshee. She could do this, Hermione told herself. She could do it. Melvin started sobbing loudly.

'Dormions Monstrum,' Hermione started, and a grey glow shot from her wand to the banshee. '... Silencius Bestium ...' The banshee was glowing grey itself, now, and it had noticed Hermione's attempt to bind it. Its face appeared on her side of the banshee's cloud-like body again. Behind it, Melvin Cracker collapsed to the floor. '... Morpheus Vos Maestrum Est!' And the banshee screamed. Hermione started, afraid that she had done something wrong, but it was a scream of the banshee's own despair, and it held no power over her. The scream faded out, and the banshee's cloud-like body coalesced into a smaller, unmoving solid form.

  


To her surprise, Hermione realised that she'd done it. She'd saved the Muggles who would be coming to see the Castle of Despair in the morning. She'd even saved Melvin, though the boy had only tried to get Hermione into trouble for it. So, Hermione thought, she should be feeling quite pleased with herself. That spell had been strong enough that only sixth or seventh year students at Hogwarts might learn it at Hogwarts. And on top of that, Hermione felt that she had proven to herself that she actually was quite brave, and that maybe the Sorting Hat had just judged her better than she'd judged herself when it put her in Gryffindor. Plenty of reasons to be happy.

And Hermione would be happy. In the morning. Right now, she was too tired. If she could just get some rest ...

A second later, Hermione was asleep.

Hermione's sleep was calm and restfully, unplagued by any bad dreams ... or any dreams at all, for that matter. She was just too tired to have any. Hermione lost all track of time, and thus had no idea how late it was when a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake.

''kay, Mum,' she muttered sleepily without opening her eyes. ''ll be righ' there.'

The hand, however, didn't listen to her, and kept shaking her. Now a voice was gently saying her name, as well. Hermione groaned. She was lying so comfortably here, with the sun shining on her face. Wait a minute ... that wasn't really true ... Hermione was lying very _un_comfortably on a cold, hard surface. Stone ... Stone floor, the castle! Suddenly jerked wide awake, Hermione opened her eyes and sat straight up. The sun shone straight into her eyes, and as Hermione raised a hand to shield them, she was startled at how late it was. Mum and Dad! They must be so worried!

'There, there, Miss Granger, are you all right?' someone said nearby, and Hermione looked aside to see the man who'd shaken her awake sitting kneeled on the ground next to her.

'Mr Weasley!' Hermione exclaimed. 'What ...' She looked around, and saw at least half a dozen more wizards in Ministry robes scurrying around the hall. The banshee nor Melvin Cracker were anywhere to be seen. 'What are _you_ doing here?' she wondered curiously.

  


Mr Weasley chuckled merrily. 'Why are we here?' he repeated. 'Well, Hermione, just to clean up the mess, since you already did the real work for us.' Seeing that Hermione still didn't quite understand, Mr Weasley continued. 'You see, a witch on Watcher duty at the Ministry sensed the binding spell for the Scottish banshee being performed here at Loch Leigh ... Powerful bit of magic, that, I'm impressed that you could handle it ... Anyway, we all thought that it was just Mr McAroni calming the banshee down after a particularly wild mood. The creature throws fits sometimes, you know. Nothing we can do about those in advance. So I took a group of wizards and witches to clean up the castle, to make sure the banshee's song hadn't contaminated any rooms all over again like before we first restored the castle. And instead of Mr McAroni, we found you and Henry McNuggett, both asleep. You can imagine our surprise.'

'Who's Mr McAroni?' Hermione asked.

'He's another Ministry employee,' explained Mr Weasley. 'He was supposed to relieve Henry last week.' He shook his head disapprovingly, and even a little angrily. 'The banshee is kept trapped in its room, you see, Hermione, but stand guard over it for too long, and its song will still grab hold of you. Because McAroni never showed, Henry fell victim to the song, and the banshee managed to escape.'

'Do you have any idea what happened to Mr McAroni, Mr Weasley?' Hermione tried to get to her feet, but she was stiff and unsteady from lying on the hard stone floor too long, and Mr Weasley had to help her up.

'He overslept.' Mr Weasley was obviusly disgusted with the man.

'Overslept?' Hermione asked astonishedly. 'For a whole _week_?'

Mr Weasley nodded his agreement. 'I know,' he said. 'Scandalous, isn't it? Rest assured that that wizard won't find himself in an important position again anytime soon.'

Hermione suddenly remembered something, and she looked to the floor, hesitant to speak.

Mr Weasley noticed it. 'Something wrong, Hermione?' he asked.

'Am I in trouble?' Hermione asked in a small voice.

'What on earth for?' Mr Weasley wondered, surprised. Then he seemed to realise what Hermione meant, and it was his turn to look away, a sheepish look on his face. 'Oh. You mean for using magic during the summer holidays. Actually, the Ministry would like to keep this little mishap quiet as much as you do, Hermione. The banshee should never have been able to escape. It's just that the entire Ministry has been so busy with the Quidditch World Cup ... all that fuss ... If the press finds out about this, we're all done for.'

'So ...' Hermione said hopefully, 'If I won't tell anyone, you won't either?'

Mr Weasley looked at her and nodded. Hermione smiled relievedly. She hadn't realised how afraid she'd been that she'd get expelled from Hogwarts or something until now.

Now there was only one problem left.

'Um, Mr Weasley,' Hermione said, 'I really should be going back now. My parents must be terribly worried.'

Mr Weasley clapped a hand on her shoulder. 'I'll walk you there. But don't worry, I sent someone to tell your father and mother that you're all right. It's the least we could do, because you _did_ save us a _lot_ of trouble.'

  


As they walked out of the Castle of Despair, something else occurred to Hermione. 'Mr Weasley?' she asked. 'Whatever happened to Melvin Cracker?'

'The Muggle boy? I brought him back to his tent myself. Mighty interesting things, those Muggle tents. Pity I don't have more time. We had to put a memory charm on the boy, of course. He won't remember anything about little witches and monsters.' Hermione grimaced in disappointment. It was perhaps a bit cruel of her to think so, but Melvin had completely deserved learning a lesson and being put in his place. 'But,' Ron's father continued, and Hermione thought she saw him suppress a smile, 'it appears that the boy was so frightened by the vision the banshee's song made him see that he wet himself. We had to cover everything up, of course, so I invented the story that I fished him up out of the water of the lake, and let him explain to his mother why he'd gone swimming in the middle of the night.

Hermione nearly laughed out loud. That story would be all over the camp site in the morning, and the humiliation was exactly what Melvin deserved.

This was certainly turning out to be the most interesting vacation Hermione had ever had. She wanted to write Ron and Harry and tell them everything as soon as she got back to the tent, but she decided to wait until she saw them again. The boys would never believe any of it from a piece of parchment. Even more than before, Hermione couldn't wait for the Quidditch World Cup and the beginning of the new year at Hogwarts after that.   
  
  


--The End--

  
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

Harry Potter and the world of muggles, witches and wizards © Copyright 2004 J.K. Rowling, used with gratitude if not permission. 


End file.
